


(you're worse than) nicotine

by epilogues



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 06:56:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12271248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epilogues/pseuds/epilogues
Summary: "what happened doesn't change anything."





	(you're worse than) nicotine

**Author's Note:**

> _anon asked: "What happened doesn't change anything." Brencer?? Or whatever you want lmao I'd be down for ereri..."_
> 
> it's brencer?? hope that's cool, ik u love ereri but ive never actually written any and that was not smth i wanted to tackle atm lol
> 
> ANyway - enjoy

“Hey, Spence, want to take a trip down to the music store with me? I need to pick up some new strings.”

Spencer scrubs a hand across his face, his ‘three days since I’ve shaved’ stubble scratching against his palm. “I don’t know, Jon. . .”

Jon heaves a sigh across the line. “Dude, It’s been four weeks. You’ve gotta leave the house sometime.”

“I’ve left the house,” Spencer protests. He flops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.  _ Four weeks.  _ Huh.

“Going out to get groceries doesn’t count. C’mon. I’m picking you up in twenty.” Jon hangs up before Spencer’s able to protest. Spencer sighs and mashes his face into the nearest couch cushion.

Sort of true to his word, Jon rings Spencer’s doorbell about thirty minutes later. Somehow, Spencer’s managed to pull himself together enough to get dressed and shave. (He’d almost be proud of himself if he didn’t feel so shitty.)

“Hey,” says Jon. One of his flip-flops smacks the wood of the porch as he taps his foot. “Ready to go?”

Spencer shrugs. “I guess so.” He follows Jon off the porch, wishing almost immediately that he’d brought sunglasses but also having zero motivation to run back into the house to grab a pair. The sun’s too fucking bright, especially since Spencer believes that the weather should always be appropriate for his mood. His mood is decidedly  _ not  _ sunny today. 

About halfway to the store, Jon finally stops tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel and looks over at Spencer. “So. Uh. How are you?”

“Take a guess,” Spencer says dryly. “I recently found out that my boyfriend had been cheating on me for half of the time we were together.”

There’s a long, awkward silence before Jon speaks again. “Brendon asked me to tell you -”

“Tell him I don’t want to fucking hear it,” Spencer says, crossing his arms. “And look, I just. I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“Okay,” says Jon. “Forget I mentioned it. Did you see SNL last night?”

And by the time Spencer’s back in his house, he’s actually starting to feel okay for the first time since he came home that one day to find Ryan and Brendon on the couch- he cuts himself off. No. He’s feeling okay.

* * *

 

At least, he's feeling okay until three am, when he's jerked out of sleep by the buzz of his cell phone. Spencer blinks at it groggily until the notification slowly comes into focus.

_ “Fought w/ ryan need u so sry pls come i cnt do tgis rn.” _

It’s from Brendon.

Spencer’s breath catches in his throat, and before he knows it, he’s swerving violently to the left because oh, yeah, he’s supposed to turn here, and now he’s on Brendon’s street. The pavement is slick with rain that’s still drizzling down, the puddles making the light of the streetlamps bleed out in long, distorted streaks. And then he’s unlocking the door with the key Brendon still keeps between two loose bricks on his porch and stepping inside, and it’s quiet and dark but then he hears something from upstairs.

“Bren?” Spencer calls softly, walking over to the staircase and peering upwards. “Bren, are you up there?” He knows that this is a terrible idea, but no matter what happened four weeks ago, he still loves Brendon. He’s pretty sure that he always will, and it’s that sad knowledge that propels his feet up the stairs.

There’s the sound of ragged, broken breathing coming from the end of the hall. Spencer slowly makes his way towards the sound, careful not to look at the pictures of Ryan and Brendon he knows are on the walls. 

Brendon’s crying when Spencer comes in, eyes red-rimmed and biting his lip to hold back audible sobs. Spencer  _ knows  _ he shouldn’t, knows he shouldn’t have come at all, should have deleted the text immediately. All that said, though, Spencer’s here and Brendon’s crying and Spencer can’t walk away now. 

“Hey,” Spencer says, and his hand has somehow migrated to Brendon’s shoulder and Brendon’s leaning into the touch and still fucking  _ sobbing.  _ “Hey, it’s okay, B. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Brendon manages, taking in a long, shaky breath. “It’s not, Spence, I fucked it all up with you and now I think I fucked it all up with Ryan and why do I fuck  _ everything  _ up, oh my God-”

(Spencer decidedly ignores the way his heart flip-flops when Brendon says he fucked things up with Ryan.) “Breathe, okay?” he instructs Brendon. “Just breathe for me. It’s okay.” 

He’s sitting on the bed next to Brendon now, when did that happen, and shit, Brendon’s tucked his head into the crook of Spencer’s neck and he looks so lost and Spencer can’t handle this. “Bren, look, I shouldn’t have come, this was a bad idea, okay, I was doing good for once today and now. . . “ He disentangles himself and stands up, but Brendon grabs his hand.

“Stay,” Brendon whispers, voice hoarse from crying. “Please, Spence, I need you. I’m so sorry about everything that happened, and I just need another chance, Spence. Just one more chance, and I promise I won’t ruin it this time, I promise. Just stay.”

And Spencer finds himself following the gentle tug of Brendon’s hand back onto the bed, and then Brendon’s lips are on his. Spencer knows he needs to stop this right now, but he doesn’t. He can’t. It’s been too long and Spencer’s been more hung up on Brendon than he’d ever dared admit himself and now that he has this chance for at least one more night, he’s not giving it up. 

Brendon’s still crying, though he’s calming down, and they share in a desperate, clinging make out for eternities before Brendon drifts into sleep. Every bone in Spencer’s body is telling him to lie down next to Brendon and just never leave. Spencer’s brain is telling him to get the hell out of Dodge. For once in his life, he listens to the latter and slips out of the house before he looks at the empty imprint on the other side of the bed for too long. 

Instead of going straight home, Spencer drives aimlessly around for a while. He runs a red light by mistake and wonders if it’s a metaphor designed specifically for him by whatever asshole runs the universe, drenches the side of his car in mud because he doesn’t see a puddle and realizes it kinda feels the same way Brendon’s tears did. 

Time blurs by and then Spencer’s sitting on his kitchen floor alone at noon staring at the screen.  _ You have one (1) new voicemail from: BRENDON. _

He taps the play button with a shaking finger, and Brendon’s voice fills the kitchen. It’s not the same way he sounded just hours before, sobbing into Spencer’s neck, but it’s not too far away either. “Spencer. What happened. . . it doesn’t change anything, okay? I love Ryan. Sorry.” And then there’s silence. 

Spencer knows, he knew from the second he read Brendon’s text, but that night, he keeps his phone on and by his bed, just in case. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so much for reading! i live off of feedback


End file.
